Out
by AjAwkwardsauce
Summary: Boys and girls slip through your fingers like water, and each one is sharper than the last because pretty soon your hands are bleeding. Your tongue too, but you don't want to talk about that. You hurt all over because, they feel so good, and you don't mean the boys. Jori. Jade-centric.


**Here is a new Jori one shot. I seem to write my best when writing as Jade.**

You sit down to write a manuscript, and instead your pencil spills out the long awaited story line of your life. Your little autobiography of sorts, but mostly it's about your coming out story. Mostly it's about your denial. Because you spent years in it. You were twenty-five years old when you broke down and stopped lying to yourself.

Twenty-five years is a long time to be in denial. It was very deep denial too, because when you're under some girl's tongue and you've got three fingers buried in her, it is still just a good time. You are just fooling around. You are not gay.

Boys and girls slip through your fingers like water, and each one is sharper than the last because pretty soon your hands are bleeding. Your tongue too, but you don't want to talk about that. Bare skin is too bright and you beg for the lights to be turned off so you don't have to look at them. Teeth scrape at your flesh and you cannot help but moan out. Names do not bounce off your lips; just some unintelligible gargling in the back of your throat. Even that hurts.

You hurt all over because, they feel so good, and you don't mean the boys. Sure, they touch the right places, and push the correct buttons; but the girls…the girls supercharge your entire body. They give you pleasure you didn't even know existed.

You shuffle from one girl to the next until one night you end up on your back underneath Tori Vega. You almost completely forgot about her. But here she is, and she's got the most amazing tongue and all the knowledge of how to use it. You don't think she knows it's you until you're out of breath and your throat is sore from screaming and she crawls up beside you, she kisses your cheek. She whispers into your hair something about missing you and this jumpstarts your brain because, oh my God, this is Victoria Vega and she just fucked you, and this can not be happening.

You sit up and find yourself in the back of a car you don't remember getting into. She's asking you what is wrong but you can't find the words. She is here, and you are here and things went from out-of-this-world to awful in two-point-five seconds and you cannot even catch your breath.

You fumble with the handle and throw the door open. You nearly fall to the ground when you escape the car on shaky legs. You're not wearing underwear, but does it really matter, because even with them you would feel dirty with her saliva coating the inside of your thighs.

You're walking away and you don't know where you're going. She grabs your arm before you get too far and she's yelling at you now. What's wrong with you? She is screaming and tears are streaming down your face. You lash out at her with the words that have been plaguing your mind for months, maybe even years. I'm gay!

She stands a little straighter and laughter bubbles from her throat as her hand flutters to her chest. You don't laugh. You don't join in with her chortle. You wait for her to ridicule you. Instead she murmurs a quiet, me too.

For some reason, at the time, this strikes you as odd. Tori Vega, Princess of Hollywood Arts; gay? How come nobody knew? When you ask her this question, years later, she tells you she tried to get your attention in high school, but you didn't look.

Over the years, after you tell your story, people tell you that it isn't proper. According to others, a proper tale of expressing your gayness is one that involves many people. Of course, what do those people know? You told the only person it mattered to. Some people ask about how your parents found out.

You never outright told your parents of your homosexuality. But they sure did find out at your wedding. They didn't even know you had been dating. All they could hope for, on that day, was a nice boy; not too many tattoos or piercings. It would be an understatement to say they were a little shocked; you loved the looks on their faces though.

When you met Tori you stopped the game of hopscotch you were playing with girls. She became the only girl you could touch, and in turn the only girl who could touch you. Nothing about her hurt.

Nothing about her made you bleed.

You turned the lights on to see her beauty.

The only name on your lips is hers.


End file.
